


Lost in Translation

by Chibiness87



Series: Warm bodies [1]
Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV)
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Love, NSFW, Smut, So going to use that from now on, Vampires, Witches, bundling, like that's going to stop them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 12:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16284659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: Matthew and Diana. Bundling.





	Lost in Translation

**Author's Note:**

> *sigh* I wrote smut.

**Lost in translation,** by **chibiness87**  
Rating: E. There be _bundling_  
**Season/Spoilers** : 1.05.  
**Disclaimer** : Not mine

* * *

 

“What does the learned historian know about bundling,” he asks, eyes dancing in a teasing manner and mouth tilting up in a smirk she’s beginning to think of as hers.

She blinks, mouth falling open in a way that is not at all ladylike.

Bundling.

He wants to… Bundle. In the 21st century. _Well_ , she thinks _, we’ll just see about **that**_.

Her hands fall to his shirt, even as her tone teases him about the current year. She can’t very well call him old fashioned after all; for all she knows bundling was high fashion the last time he courted a woman, if what Ysabeau told her earlier is to be believed.

And while a small part of her grieves for the children she will never feel quickening in her womb, the much larger part knows this is something she will willingly give up, as long as she gets to have Matthew in return. There are other ways to have children, after all.

But still.

Bundling.

Lying in bed fully clothed and talking. Sleeping platonically side by side.

She gives a silent snort. _Yeah. Like **that’s** going to happen. _

She think she has him by the time the second button is undone, and won completely by the third, but before she can get any further he stills her hand. Backing up, she’s about to apologise, to take her wine back and try to cool the way her nerves are singing, knowing he must be able to hear her heart, smell her adrenaline and her desire, when his dark gaze meets hers. Instead of pushing her away, he keeps her steady, a willing captive in his arms. “You might not like what you see,” he warns her, and she wants to laugh.

What could he possibly have to worry about that would make her flee, now that she has him? Hands returning to his shirt, she watches out of the corner of her eye as he unbuttons his cuffs for her. Pushing his shirt open, it is he that does the rest and draws it down his arms, flinging it into a corner, letter her drink her fill.

It only takes a second for her to realise what he meant.

Scars.

Scars upon scars, small and large, weaving over the front of his body like a tapestry. She draws in a breath, eyes flickering from one puckered mark to another, fingers trailing in her wake, her heart aching at all he has endured. He stands still, letting her duck behind him, and she cannot stop the mournful sound escaping when she sees his back. If his front was a tapestry, his back is an arras. His voice is chocked when she traces over one of the older looking blemishes, detailing the cause of such a wound.

A broadsword. The One Hundred Years War.

Goddess.

She knows his age. Knows that 1500 years is a long time to survive without being injured in some way, but knowing the theory and having it spelt out in front of her in a criss-cross of swords swipes and arrow furrows is something completely different, and she feels an anger and possessiveness in her she didn’t know she had. Unlike before when her anger brought out a witchwind, this time fire rises in her eyes. Voice dark, she all but growls, “I want to hunt down every last person who hurt you,” surprised to find she means it. Knowing if even one of these wounds had been caused last week, instead of last century, she would do so without hesitation.

Matthew’s eyes grow wide at that, her name a breath on the air. “Diana. Oh, _Dieu_ , I…” He swoops down, mouth meeting hers with a need she has not felt before, and she wonders just how many people have known about his mutilated body, how many have reacted this way. It can’t have been many, she reckons, and then stops thinking about anything at all when he deposits her on the bed and shows her just what _bundling_ means.

His fingers are cool on her flesh, stroking over her stomach, her hips, before sliding lower, making her quake, making her shiver. Making her nerve endings sing to his tune, and she wonders just what he can read about her from her reactions to his touch alone. She gets her answer almost immediately, his mouth on hers, tongue sweeping inside, and she presses herself back up, arching her body to get closer. Her hand snakes into his hair gasping at his neck, before she tilts her head away, gasping harshly for air when she feels where his hand has gone. He smirks at her, eyes dark and full of promise, and then, before she can fully draw breath, one finger slides down, slipping into her heat with ease. He withdraws slowly, before plunging back in, making her inner muscles twitch and ache at the intrusion, only to grasp for him when he withdraws once more. Letting him set the pace, her hips find his rhythm almost immediately. Her back arches, and his mouth lands on a nipple, still hidden by the top she is still wearing, never mind her bra, and how has he managed to reduce her to this so quickly, how is this fair?

Withering on the bedspread, she tries to push him away or pull him closer, she’s not sure which, her orgasm already beginning to rise, but another of his cool finger makes its way inside her instead, and then he curls them just so, and goddess, how does he know just how to touch her? His teeth tug gently on her nipple, making her back arch, and then his thumb is brushing against his clit and it’s too much. Much too much. Her orgasm crashes over her, hard and fast, and fuck, but she has never come like this before.

Matthew gives her a wide smile, fingers still within her, pumping slowly now she has reached her crest, letting the aftershocks flutter around his digits, waiting for her to catch her breath.

“That’s…” she pants, biting back a cry when his clever, clever thumb traces lightly over her clit once more, causing another deep pulse in her core, her eyes slipping closed at the intense feeling. “That’s not bundling,” she says, when she can breathe once more.

His hand sides from between her thighs, making her gasp at the lack of his touch. She watches with wide eyes and he quickly sucks his fingers clean of her juices, before he moves up her still trembling body to rest by her head. “It is in France,” he tells her, making a giggle escape her in shock. The hand he used to support him moves up to pull her hair from her face, and then his mouth is on hers. She can taste the faint trace of herself on his tongue, but underneath it is pure male.

Mine, she thinks. You’re _mine_.

Pulling back with a gasp, she lets her hand track down to where his own desire has been pushing into her hip. With a wicked grin, she lets her fingers trace over the length of him over his trousers, before lowering the zip and getting the clasp undone. A glint in her eye, she leans down so her mouth is level with his ear.

Circling his girth, she gives him a lazy stroke, relishing in the grunt the simple move produces.

“My turn.”

* * *

Thoughts?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this. Let me know if you want me to.


End file.
